Steadfast Sanctuary (M DBCicero)
by Farts
Summary: More than a year in the making, their friendship has grown to something deep and meaningful, Cicero's lost humanity coming back in great and wonderful throes in the company of the Dragonborn. A short romantic drabble, a Listener and his beloved keeper meet with danger in the still of the Rift night.


Opening monologue: "I.. am going to brainstorm something...scandalous."

Beginning scene:

It was not often that the Dragonborn chose to travel through the thickest of forest in the still of the night, but the roads of the Rift where far more dangerous in light of the civil uprising that spread from Eastmarch like a deadly plague.

It's so very dark and there's not a peep in the air, even though there had bound to be beasts around every turn. Light was so devoid in the moonless shadow of the mighty mountain, and underneath tall firs, only Chac had eyes sharp enough to navigate the narrow rocky path. The Imperial and his unruly horse (stolen, and from an Imperial camp, no less) follow behind, although rather one should say the horse went where he pleased while Cicero hitched along for the ride... Luckily the Bosmer's trusting sway on the beast kept it near at calmer times. It was without a saddle, Cicero's hands tight on the reigns and irritating the stallion's short temper.

They're in companionable silence (apart from Cicero's occasional laugh or muttering) , when suddenly the elf's ears visibly come to attention and turn towards a cracking sound from far behind them. Immediately he drew his bow, there was perfection in his form and unwavering gaze, black eyes scanning the thick of the forest in search of a threat. Cicero silently drew his knife-

"Wait." Listener orders, and he obeys, the elf standing on one stirrup and a knee on the saddle.

Far in the distance between a row of cleared trees, Chac spotted the glimmer of yellow eyes; they where otherworldly. Still and silent, the pair of eyes stalk the white horse beneath the elf while he steadies his shot.

"It's mine," He whispers to his companion, firing the first shot from his enchanted bow. But something happened he didn't expect, and he was a fool for not thinking of it earlier, the stolen horse behind him charging off in abject terror at the sound of the arrow, precious cargo taking off along with him on his back while the Imperial yelped in surprise.

"Cicero!" He called out, soon realizing that his shot merely must have grazed the beast, because it emerged from the darkest shadows; almost as black as night itself. He recognizes it's familiar form, it's enraged roar- a hungry werewolf. It charges after the startled horse on all fours, claws out and ready to feed on whatever it could bring down first.

"Cicero,it's coming for you!" He shouts, another arrow knocked and aimed for his guess of where the beast took. Without almost any action, his faithful horse followed suit, being guided by Chac's will through thickets of bushes and pines, the sound of Cicero's piercing shout making the elf's heart pound with uncertainty. In a panic, Chac couldn't make heads or tails of where the running beasts went. Frantically his horse searched for a way through the brush, blood seeping from scrapes on his legs and huffing wildly.

"Kyyyaaggh!" He heard the Imperial's pitchy scream, followed by the cries of both a horse and beast- the scene played before Chac's eyes. In a rare panic he leaps from his horse, darting and ducking through branches with his sword at the ready. The sight before him was dire; the attacking beast rending flesh from the horse's underbelly, Cicero was nowhere in sight but his cries where so close. Eyes affixed on the back of the massive werewolf, the Bosmer plunges his dragonbone blade deep into the beast's thigh.

With a thunderous roar, the beast about-faced and seethed ferociously towards the offending elf, who's blade soon met with it's throat. Chac found Cicero's ebony blade skewered into the beasts' chest, bleeding out roughly. Broadsided, Chac feels the sharpness of claws scrape against his Dragonscale armor, his sturdy body holding fast against the beast's onslaught. His ears soon discovered that Cicero had gone silent, and there was only one place the elf hadn't been able to look- under the horse.

"Kuh.." Cicero gasps, his mind reeling and having air squeezed from his lungs by the weight of the injured stallion. Lips soon turning blue and running out of energy to push the beast away with his only good arm, Cicero begins to lose consciousness. Visions of the Night Mother's coffin flashed before his eyes, his desire to call for her getting stronger. Sounds of the fight playing just beyond his trap started to get fuzzy, the elf wasting no time in cutting down the beast, sending it's soul to the void..or wherever werewolves go. Cicero giggles, choking.

Chac pulls his blade from the thick meat of the dead beast, freshly spilled blood spattering his boots. He had no time to waste, scrambling forward through the brush and to Cicero's side. The Imperial was pinned right underneath the bloodied horse, more than half of his body just disappeared under it's weight, hearing the poor animal shiver and groan in pain. Chac wrapped his hands around it's knee, pulling with all his might (which was powerful indeed)

"Urngh!" Cicero grunts, completely breathless with his lungs pinned down hard, "Listener!" his voice raspy with effort. Once his second arm is free he joins the effort, pushing and pushing, gasping hard for sweet breath and color coming back to his lips. Chac seemingly has his priorities set because the moment Cicero was able to drag himself out from underneath the horse, Chac was healing it.

The horse whinnied and cried, hooves flying in distress as the elf performed his healing arts upon the gaping wound in it's gut. Restorative light flows from his palms, vision returning to Cicero as he took heavy, labored breaths, his chest hurting so badly all he could do was croak and shudder weakly.

"Pfuh..Luh..Hrnk..Lussnnerr-nk" He tries to call out to his friend, bringing his hand to his ribs, the slightest of touch sending his chest into a frenzy of pain. Blood froths up on his tongue and the metallic taste makes Cicero's mind dim, rolling onto his side and gasping for breath.

"Stay right there, Y'ffre, Cicero stop moving." The elf withdrew his magic as he rushes to his friends side, eyes scanning wildly yet he finds no open wounds or slashes. But the sound of his dearest Cicero sputtering, the color of red flecks at his lips, it became apparent that it was pressure which harmed him most. Cicero's skintight armor left little between his healing hands and the crushed chest within it, and running his fingertips along his ribs drew such a quivering moan from the Imperial it made Chac wince.

"You're going to be fine, you're going to be juuust fine, Cicero." He hushes, truly knowing what kind of pain it was like to be flattened like a flapjack. Warmth and tremors run through Cicero's body as he's being healed, the elf soon pulling him close for a deeper heal, oh it was rare when he needed this, Chac's magic, but to Cicero it always feels like he was just pouring his own energy into him. It was..ermn.. intimate. Like something so new to him he never quite knows where to place the feeling.

"Not..herk..not Cicero's finest moment, I must admit. Stupid, stupid werewolf. If I didn't have this-ernk- this lumbering beast on top of me I'd have-"

"Oh, be quiet, you fool. Listener knows you'd have shown him what for. Luckily, you have me to do that for you." Cicero flashed him something between a smile and a grimace, his red hair glowing in the healing light. His bones mended and his lungs following suit, the little Imperial takes a huge and quivering yawn "Ah, like new..._mostly_." that little zing of pain at the end of his breath proving him wrong.

Pink tinged the clouds in the sky as morning beckoned. They'd been riding all night, but town was not far away and rest was the only thing on their stressed minds. Chac takes Cicero by his slender wrists and pulls him up to stand, the man coming barely up to his shoulder in height.

"oh, WAIT!" Chac suddenly shouts, Cicero held steady in his arms while he calls out to the unsaddled horse, seeing it fret and scamper away. The redhead and he both just seemed to curse at the same time- they'd gone through so much trouble stealing that horse and it's only brought them trouble. Kismet, he supposes. Chac sighs heavily and turns to look down at his dear friend, rubbing his armored shoulders.

"Anyway, you're safe. So not all is lost. Come with me and we'll ride to town." the Bosmer leads the weary man to the white stallion, climbing up on his saddle and pulling the other man up to sit behind him.

"Hold tight, I'll get us to bed in no time at all." He took his hands and made sure Cicero wraps his arms fully around his chest, smiling to feel how tightly he held on. Soon he felt a cheek rest against his back, a giggle coming from behind. Chac always felt so big and strong when someone small like Cicero embraced him, he felt a sense of vigilance, of dominance.

Soon back on the road, it was only a handful of miles to Ivarstead. Sunlight glimmered on the frosty town rooftops, morning birds calling and river rushing... It was a very beautiful and peaceful village, nestled at the foot of the great mountain that sheltered it from vicious Pale winds. In the distance the elf could hear the sound of an axe coming down on wood. People where awake, so they needed to keep low.

"Hood up, my friend. We don't want to attract any attention. Our mark should be in town by the time we've had some rest." He hears Cicero hum a tune, felt his voice vibrate from his cheek into his back and it made the elf grin widely. As much as he disliked seeing Cicero injured, the aftermath wasn't so bad.

They kept their heads low and hoods up on their unassuming fur cloaks, taking the cobblestone path up to Vilemyr Inn. The air smells of stale mead as they first walk in, Cicero pinching his nose briefly and tsk'ing at the sight of mead bottles and broken chairs. Apparently they'd missed a grand fight last night, and the innkeeper looked like he'd just been dragged under a carriage.

"Shame we missed it," He mouths, following Chac's orders to be silent in public. It was better off that way, he always told him.

"What in Mara's name happened here?" Chac asks, laying money down for a single room. He couldn't avoid being recognized at Inn's, he'd long since given up trying to mask himself. "Here's a little extra in it if you don't tell a soul that I've been here.." 50 gold coins fell from his purse, the bribe eagerly taken.

"It's the room on the left, strangers." He grins. Finally some rest.

The room was hardly fit for a Mer of his status certainly, the narrow bed was just wood and blankets, and standing room was scarce. But all the other beds had apparently been occupied by last night's drunken louts, and he didn't feel like wiping vomit off from the only double-bed available.

"Right into bed with you, off you go!" Chac insists, taking Cicero's hand and leading him charmingly towards the furs, watching his tight frame fall back and hit the bed. His hat-less head of hair spilled over the only pillow, his body sore but his eyes and mind affixed on the elf as he disarms himself.

"hnn." Cicero hummed through a smile, playful eyes watching his pauldrons drop to the floor and gauntlets peel away from his skillful hands. Chac's armor was a pain in the ass to put on, but coming off it was like poetry to watch...at least Cicero thought so. It wasn't often he'd had the pleasure of watching anyone like _him _strip before his eyes.

"See something you like, huh?" Chac laughs, he had a gruff voice- it almost didn't match his face.

"Oh Listener, do go on with whatever you are doing, and pretend that sly Cicero isn't watching your every move." His chest hurt but he still needed to laugh, the Imperial twiddling the tips of his boots together and a hand tapping against his stomach.

"Well alright, I do hope no one barges in and takes advantage of helpless old me." Chac singsongs, dropping the last bit of cloth off of his body with the pull of his underclothes' waistband. Cicero's eyes fall immediately to his taut, er, posterior, the Imperial suppressing a tittering laugh as the elf checks the sturdiness of the door's lock.

"Hohoho, Does the Listener fear a raid of smelly, nasty Orcs overtaking your fine castle?" Cicero jested, sitting up with a wince before being pushed back down by a firm set of fingertips.

"I was fucked by an Orc once, you know. Long, long time ago." He says, as if commenting on the weather.

Cicero went quiet, his eyes huge and round.

"It was..erm... Unpleasant to say the least. The smell sort of haunts your nostrils for a few days. The more you know, eh?"

"Cicero's not sure if he was meant to know that.." he twiddles his thumbs now, staring stark into Chac's eyes when the elf smiles for him ever the same.

"Not even a laugh? I must be losing my touch." The nude elf sat astride him, even if Cicero's small frame took a portion of the bed there was not much room for both of them.

"Cicero doesn't find it very funny, hrmph. The poor listener!" Where otherwise the thought of a huge cock slamming his elven ass may have been at least intriguing, Cicero just felt plain bad for him, and jealous too. The sheer fact that Cicero didn't find something to be hilarious meant something to Chac just then, hey, all of his hard work must be paying off. Humanity was returning bit by bit to Cicero, or maybe him loving the Listener so madly was to blame. The ginger was pouting visibly and it warmed his heart.

"Poor Listener, nothing. Here, love, let's turn out the light and get some rest." Cicero wriggled his tiny self to the far edge of the bed, laying back and wincing at the sharp pain in his deeper breaths. Even with the candle now out, the pale blue of morning light struck their bodies, shining down in visible beams.

Cicero trembles when the elf crawls his way over him, lowering his body onto Cicero's side, the Imperial's lean arm becoming his pillow, his own bare arm draped over his torso. Cicero snuggles up against the Bosmer, grunting with effort and quick to run his gloved hands up and down his back, fingers combing in between his unruly dreads. The elf always smelled of pine and spices, no matter how dirty he may get. His scent fills Cicero's prominent nose, and he willfully inhales deeply until it hurt.

"Mmm.. I like your touch." Chac moans, yet it seems innocent. Cicero responds by running his small hands over Chac's tense shoulder, fingering the dips of his back and his cheek pressed flush to the elf's forehead. Cicero could only think to continue, feeling the fluttering of Chac's lashes against his neck until his eyes fall shut.

Cicero was quiet again, he was getting better at it. Moments go by, and his eyes are ready to drop, but the madman felt words and confession at the tip of his tongue, wanting to roll them out for the elf to hear. He thought back to what happened earlier, how Chac pulled the injured horse off from him and fended off the wretched beast. He remembered being healed, the way it seemed like Chac just poured his life into his own.

"Listener?" he peeps, barely audible beyond the bed. The elf stirs against his body, Cicero feels his bare thumb trace his hipbone back and forth.

"Cicer-.." He starts, but abruptly stops, the elf grunts in question. Cicero was anxious that his sweet Mother may hear him, and disapprove, even if he'd said it a hundred times before. But it was still difficult..

"I love you, do you know that, Listener? Cicero loves you so very, very much." It always felt like a huge weight came off his chest every time he had the courage to let the Listener know. The Bosmeri enchanted amulet resting around his neck was a continual reminder of that, the gift given to him out of love.

"I'm a very lucky man." Chac replies, tilting his stubbled chin up to press his lips to Cicero's jaw, looking up to the one he lay against. Cicero's hair was tousled and his kohl slightly smudged, and there was enough pine needles and thistle thorns stuck in the Bosmer's hair to get a campfire going. Messy and exhausted, both lay their heads down and wait for sleep to take them.

Cicero didn't need to be told the same, but he did so want to hear it. For some reason the Dragonborn had difficulty expressing his love for Cicero in those such words, but he knew that his Listener loved him. It showed in his eyes, his actions, in his songs. Cicero's fragile mind muses over them both and strokes his dreadlocked hair until exhaustion claims them for the rest of the morn.


End file.
